A Thiefs Special Brand of Magic
by blackkyu
Summary: Marie awoke one morning to find magic seeping through her songs, afraid of accidentally hurting someone with her music, there is only one person she can turn to-but he can't help her-not directly. "Why can't ya teach her? 'ever magic trick you're using 'eems powerful enough." Raphael raised an eyebrow, lips quirking up into a small smile, "I have no magic. Not like you."
1. Raphael

**Disclaimer for the entire story: I own naughta, nothing, zip, zilch, not a word! **

**A Thief's Special Brand of Magic**

With red eyes and hair the new employee of the hotel should have stood out, but he danced within the shadows of the halls unnoticed, eyes full of mischief as he approached his targets room. He gave the door a single knock, a light tap, and waited, rocking back and forth on his heels.

It didn't take long before the door began to creep open, a single eye appearing through the gap. "What do you want?" muttered a gruff voice, heavy with sleep, "I aint' causin' any trouble for no one!"

"Sir," the new employee said, smiling, "would you happen to know anything about magic?"

"Magic?! What ya on about!" the man's voice hitched, raised, and the employee tilted his head, glasses catching in the light, before he stepped forward, once, twice, then, hand atop the door handle, laughed, "you know full well what I'm talking about, you can't hide it, I hear it."

"Hear it?" the man crowed incredulously, before shaking his head and pushing against the door with all his might, "ya best be getting out of 'ere, or I'll be calling the cops!"

The employee simply shrugged, "wouldn't be the first time that's happened." Then, without warning, there was the sound of bats fluttering towards the man's head, without thinking, without so much as a quick glance, he dived backward, away from the screeching creatures and towards his wand. Turning from the door, he searched, wildly, through a pile of discarded clothes, cursing all the while under his breath, then, cheering, he whipped around, wand poised in one hand, curse upon his lips.

But there were no bats, nor any other flying creature tearing through his room, no, the employee simply stood before him, door ajar, hands clasped deceivingly, and eyebrow raised in amusement. The curse, so ready before, halted, fumbled, crashed. And his mind almost let out an audible crack, laughing, tossing his now useless wand to the side, he asked what the employee intended to do with him.

The young man's smile was gentle, kind, but his eyes held mischief, and curiosity. Still, the employee made no move beyond lightly kicking the door closed. "You're sound is a sad one," the employee muttered, more to himself then to the man before him, "the rhythm is slow, faded, but there's still life to it."

The man remained silent, still, watching, hoping against hope that somehow all this crap that just keeps happening to him would end. First Voldemort destroys his family, torturing his wife and killing his son; then Snape had the gale to save him while he lie, begging for death; and now this…whatever this was.

"I want you to teach someone," the employee declared at last, done muttering to himself about sounds and rhythms.

Teach someone? Him? Ah, that was a laugh. But the young man stayed firm, "there are others with magic here"—a rather surprising declaration, he'd known of no others, mud-bloods perhaps?—"but yours is the only match, your sound, I mean—your rhythm."

"To who?" he asked, playing along, "you?"

The young man shook his head, "no, a friend."

"A lady friend?" he quipped, pulling himself up and standing before the employee, noting how small the young man actually was.

"A good friend, yes, her names Marie—she just woke to her powers a bit ago."

"A late bloomer?" the man muttered in both awe and disgust, shivering at the thought of having to teach a—likely—mud-blood anything. However, the words, the spells, they were there, on the tip of his tongue, but he could not move his body like he wished, it was almost as if the fight had been sucked out of him, the pulse torn from his grip.

And if he tried hard enough, he was certain he'd see it there, within the employee's hand.

"Why can't ya teach her? 'ever magic trick you're using 'eems powerful enough."

The young man raised an eyebrow, lips quirking up into a small smile, "I have no magic. Not like you."

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**Authors Note: **

**This is done randomly, entirely, I actually wanted to write a crossover between Rhythm Thief and The Justice League (spoofing things up a bit of course), but then I realized I didn't know enough about the Justice League to make it even slightly passable, so I just started typing, then Teen Titans came to mind, but I couldn't remember the name of the Pizza shop they always go to so that idea was scrapped and it somehow morphed to Harry Potter. I have no idea where this is going, or if it is even going anywhere, but I figured I'd explore a few mysteries of our dear Raphael, if you want to join in the journey, leave a review, anything would be useful at this point. **


	2. Marie

Chapter two: Marie

The letter arrived not too soon after Raphael's departure, the owl looking oh so disgruntled as Fondue barked at the brown creature perched within the open window of the thief's room.

"Shush," Marie said, patting the dog on the head, "you're scaring him."

Fondue replied with a whine, ears going back as he glanced back and forth between her and the glaring bird. With a laugh Marie kneeled down before him, "he'll cause no harm to me, after all, I have a shining knight beside me."

"Honestly, Fondue, I'm gone for an hour and you're crowned a knight, have you changed sides?"

"Changed sides?" Marie twirled around, smiling, laughter once again upon her lips, "Why, I think such a phrase ought to be reserved for the troublesome Duo, less you forget who makes use of your services."

"Ah, right," Raphael agreed, bowing as he excited the shadows, "how dare I forget how oft I'm called upon by the Duchess and pestered by her daughter."

Before Marie could retort, a man, haggard and old, drunk too, if the smell was any indication, stumbled from the shadows behind the thief.

"Aint' no magic he says, aint' no magical 'bout 'em—then 'eh walks through a wall! Drags 'e with 'em! Lies! Lies!" the man mutters under his breath stumbling over to Raphael's bed and collapsing.

"Raphael—"

"The spell was already in another room," he smiled, disarming her as he swiftly moved to hold her hands within his own, "I simply borrowed the rhythm."

"Thief to the core," she giggled, forgetting about the strange man's presence and the angry owl as the thief led her in a short dance—the usual means to make her forget about some of his odd little quirks.

But the owl knew no etiquette, and speed about the room impatiently, only calming down once Fondue got a good nip on his tail feathers. The man remained motionless.

"So," Raphael began, taking the letter from the owls' leg before it could peck him to death, "Hogwarts?"

Marie shook her head, "I've never known anyone to deliver by owl before."

"Shall we read it then?"

"Aint' no point," the man muttered from the bed, "'ays she's 'ot magic, all there to it. Been accepted to 'ogwarts she has." Lifting himself up from the bed he made his way back to the wall, "aint' no point to me then…" only to fall backwards, holding a wounded nose, cursing under his breath as he rolled side to side.

"Ah, sorry," Raphael said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, "you can't go back."

"W'at?!"

"Please!" Marie cried, kneeling by the man's side, "If Raphael has brought you here, it means you can help, so please, sir, help me control this power, this magic!"

Slightly put off the man watched, silently, as the young girl then lifted up her hands and whispered a word. A soft white glow enveloping his nose, soothing the pain.

"W'at?" he muttered again, this time in wonder. A wandless magic, done by a mud-blood, how odd, rare, interesting. And she claimed to have no control? Yet she healed him with more ease then a medic, and the boy, who claimed to have no magic, could use another's? Surely a dream, brought on by drunkenness. Only, he wasn't drunk enough. For he still remembers—if he tried, dared to recall—the cries of his beloved.

_How interesting! _He could hear her say, staring at the two before him, amber eyes taking them in, examining them, studying, _how rare! Surely we can keep them! Oh, darling, just think of all the magical breakthroughs they can bring! Think of all the power they could give us! _

In order to kill Voldemort and his men, in order to get revenge for everything…in order to protect what's left…

"Sir?" the children called as one, the dog yipping in-between them and owl munching on crackers left upon the dresser.

"…'ell, school aint' arting' till 'ew months 'rom now. Three, 'membering correctly. I'll 'each 'a till 'en."

The girl smiled, jumping up and bowing in thanks. But the boy watched him, dark red eyes almost smirking, 'I know you're secret,' they laughed. Perhaps, on another day he would have found this annoying, agitating. But he felt the phantom grip of his wife, long pale arms holding him from behind, and he smiled. _There's nothing to be done about it. We'll both win. In the end. _


	3. Lessons

Chapter Three: Lessons

Teaching the girl was proving more frustrating than previously thought. Not only was Marie clumsy in her execution, but she was slow in pronunciation. Beyond the small healing magic she displayed before, the man's hopes for her had significantly dwindled.

Yet the boy sat calmly in the corner of the room, smiling and encouraging, and his wife's phantom continued to whisper of possibilities.

His wand, leant to the girl, was far too big in her hands, and held awkwardly, natural reflexes adjusting the hold to that of a bow. It would take time, and a significant bit of it, before they got anywhere. Thus he called for a break, before turning to munch on whatever crackers remained after the owl's departure a few days earlier. In which the children had sent back a message.

It had been a significant surprise when he had found the girl to be a Duchess' daughter, let alone a violinist of much renowned. Even more surprising, was the fact that her magic appeared to manifest through her music. Still, it was something he thought of as no more than a fluke. Late-bloomers tend to have some quirks, or so he's heard.

But as time went on he began to wonder.

"'ell try 'ith y'ur violin 'is time."

Her shock was understandable, considering he'd not let her so much as touch the instrument during their lessons. Still, with a sudden shout of joy, she ran to her precious violin and slowly took it out, but her hands shook, and she began to look worried, as she glanced from the instrument back to him and then to Raphael.

"It's alright," the boy reassured her, "he'll be able to negate any damage your magic might create."

Curious, and slightly worried, he took back his wand and caste reinforcement spells over everything within the room. Late-bloomers where known not only for their quirks, but for some rather…dangerous outcomes.

With a nod, he told her to begin.

Taking a deep breath, she began to play, soft but powerful, her violin's sound resonated within the room, at first nothing appeared to happen, but after a minute had passed the world began to tilt, turn, curve, and his eyes where soon closing of their own accord. Then, suddenly, the music changed, and he felt like someone suddenly doused him with a bucket of water. Apparently, so too did the furniture of the room, as they began to lift and sway side to side, before jumping, along with the music, and suddenly flying about the room.

Ducking, he dropped to the floor, enviously noting how the boy simply took a step back into a corner, avoiding the chaos.

Still, this needed to "stop!" he cried, shielding his head underneath his hands. It wasn't until the last of the furniture crashed to the ground that he looked up. Not in the least bit surprised at her rather glum expression.

But his wife was ecstatic. Even for a mere shadow of a memory, her excited rambling brought a smile to his face. This girl was something else. Something else entirely. But he could most certainly help her. He had too, now that he was certain her magic truly was allot like how his own son's had been.

Like his had been.

Chaotic, unorganized, damaging.

But if music was her key to this power, then he'd simply have to find some way for her to channel it internally.

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Dumbledore, old as he is, has seen a great many things. From wonders as simple as a flying cow, to that in which is better left to the imagination, but this was a first. The child, Marie, and her mother, had accepted the invitation to Hogwarts, but upon two conditions, one he would meet willingly—to meet the child's mother, the second condition, however, was a tad difficult to fulfill.

Alas, he smiled, he loved challenges.

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**A/N: Sadly, I have no idea what the man's name is, which is why I'm avoiding mentioning it thus far. What do you lot think, should I keep him without a name, or should I grant him one? Of course, from there the issue would be what the name would even be…**


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